Clear, he had to clear. That's all that mattered anymore. One day he could stop. That would be the day that this hell on earth finally came to an end. Since Dwayne was gone, Morgan didn't allow himself to sit still. If he wasn't busy, he had time to think. Remembering hurt too much.
Morgan knew that he was responsible for Dwayne's death. He hadn't put a bullet through his wife's head during all those months. She was the only one that Dwayne would have let get close enough to bite him. He left his boy alone and she got to him. After that Morgan put them both down. Too late, he was too late. If only he had cleared the town before, it would never have happened. That's why he couldn't stop.
There was nowhere to go. The whole world was exactly like what was outside his door. God had forsaken them because of the evil of this world and left humanity to rot. He tried more than once to put an end to the torment that was his life but his nerve failed him as it had done when it came to his wife. He despised being alive but he couldn't end it himself.
One day bled into the next. He slept and ate but took no pleasure in anything. Being alive was punishment. It was suffering. What pleasure was there to be had?
After months of existing in hell, Morgan found himself face to face with a ghost of a man he once knew. It couldn't be real. Rick left them, him and Dwayne. He promised to radio and tell them where he was but he never did. Rick, the real Rick, wasn't still alive. Morgan knew it was just his mind playing tricks again. Sometimes he saw Dwayne too, still alive and talking to him.
The strange thing was that this man or apparition of a man had strangers with him, a boy and a woman. It was confusing. It had been a long while since anything unexpected happened. He was trying to make sense of it when he felt the sting of the bullet and then slumped into the darkness.
When he woke, he was in his room tied to his cot. He could hear the man or demon or whatever it was moving around the room. He wasn't going to let them confuse him again. He slid the small knife out from under the thin mattress and carefully sliced his bindings. In one swift move he jumped and plunged the small blade into the invader. The man pushed him aside at the last second so the blow landed short of its target. He'd been aiming for the heart.
The thing was speaking to him, trying to manipulate him with words. He wasn't going to listen. He was trying to pull away. Then somehow, something broke through the fog and struck a chord within him. He looked up and saw for the first time.
"Rick?" he asked in a weak, frightened voice.
It was the man he'd known, the one he and Dwayne rescued. It was Rick but not like the man he remembered. It had happened to Rick like it happened to everyone. You could see it in his eyes. The world took from him, made him do things and see things that no man should, but Rick was still trying to pretend that there was hope. He still didn't see the truth.
Morgan tried to show him how pointless it all was. Of course, Rick still had his son. The boy, Carl, was tough, maybe tough enough to survive but he'd been tarnished by this world too. He wasn't a child anymore.
When the trio left town, Morgan was right back to his job. He kept the traps set, burned the bodies, cleared. Every day from the moment he woke until he was too tired to move, he worked. Days went by. Seasons changed. The infrastructure of the town began to show signs of the neglect that it was suffering. Weeds grew along the cracks in the asphalt of the main street. Metal signs rusted. Trees felled by storms lay untouched across roads and driveways. The town became like the corpses who walked its streets, dead and decaying but not gone, not buried.
Sometime right after the leaves began to change color, Morgan felt a shift in the air. It wasn't just that it was cooler or that the days were getting shorter. Something was coming. He wasn't sure what it was but he knew in his bones that it was out there and heading for him.
He fell asleep in the small room on the top floor of the building where he'd been sitting keeping watch with his rifle propped on a window sill. He jerked awake at the sound of a chair scraping the floor. A man was sitting just across the room, just sitting peacefully and smiling at him.
Morgan fell sideways and pulled the rifle up before pointing it at the man.
"Good morning," the gray haired fellow said pleasantly.
"Who are you?" Morgan asked angrily. "How'd you get up here?"
"Don't panic, Morgan," the man said calmly. "Rick told me where to find you. My name's Hershel Greene. I'm not here to hurt you or take anything."
"Rick? Is he with you? Why are you here?" Morgan muttered.
"I had to leave our group. It was…necessary. I found my way here sort of accidentally but it looks like you could use some company," Hershel responded.
The man was old, not decrepit but obviously past his prime. He looked sad and a bit tired but otherwise okay. Morgan still didn't get it. Something wasn't right about this.
"I don't know what you think you're doin' here but you're not welcome. I'll give you some food and a weapon but you have to go. I have work to do. You'll have to go back to Rick's group or find somewhere else to stay," Morgan said flatly.
"I can't go back and there is nowhere else at the moment. I'm going to stay here. I can help you with your work," Hershel offered.
"No," Morgan said with a shake of his head. "No, you can't. This is my job. I have to do this alone. I have to clear. You don't understand."
"You can teach me what I need to know. It can be our job. I can't leave, Morgan. That's how things are. We just have to make the best of it," the old man remarked.
Morgan felt a bit dizzy. He still couldn't understand what was happening but this was what he'd felt in the days prior. This was what had been coming. Whoever or whatever this was, he couldn't scare it away. This was part of what was happening. Morgan knew, had known for a long time that he wasn't in his right mind. Maybe that's why he didn't question this new occurrence as someone else might have. For him, it was just another crazy thing in an already insane world.
Hershel Greene proved to be a bit more spry than Morgan anticipated. He worked most of the day pulling bodies off spikes and moving them. Toward dusk, the men were walking down a side street and passed a church.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to go in for a moment," Hershel told him. "It's been a while."
Morgan nodded. He didn't have much use for religion but the old man could do as he pleased. At the church doors, Hershel turned around and asked if Morgan would come in with him to watch his back. Morgan couldn't refuse him so he followed Hershel inside.
The church had been cleared months ago. The air inside was still and musty smelling. Cobwebs hung in the window corners and a layer of dust coated everything. Hershel walked slowly forward and stood near the altar. After a time, he bowed his head. Morgan stood back respectfully and watched. The late afternoon sun was shining in through the stained glass windows and giving the sanctuary a colorful hazy glow. Morgan looked over towards the window. The scene was of the Great Flood and Noah's Ark floating on the dark waves.
Morgan realized that this plague of the walking dead was much the same as the flood. Only now, there was no ark. God didn't want to save them this time. He was done with all of it. The flood of walkers would consume the planet one day. Mankind was doomed.
Hershel finished his prayer and turned back toward Morgan. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked sincerely.
"What?" Morgan asked.
"The window," Hershel said. "See the rainbow in the corner? That's God's promise to man that he will never visit such an event on us again."
Morgan began to laugh. He couldn't help himself. "You're joking, old man. What do you think is happening right now? No, it's not a flood of water but it's killing us just the same. He didn't even tell anyone to go build an ark this time. God's promise? That's bullshit."
Hershel looked at him sadly. "No, he didn't warn us this time but then again this isn't God's doing," the old man said. "Whatever this is, we did it to ourselves. We caused this and now we have a choice, to try and make the world better or to give up. The choice was always there but it's much more apparent at this point. It's all that matters anymore."
Morgan just shook his head in disbelief. All that matters? The man was off his rocker. "Well, all that matters to me right now is getting back to my room and getting some rest. I've had all I can stomach for today," Morgan replied. He headed towards the church doors and heard Hershel shuffling along behind.
"What would it take to make you believe again, Morgan? I know you did at some point. God hasn't deserted you. You've deserted him. What do you need to trust in him again? To see the good in mankind and the potential for the rebuilding of the world?" Hershel asked.
Morgan chuckled to himself. What would it take? "Oh, let's see what would Dwayne have asked for? I tell you what, Hershel, if God could make a GooGoo Cluster appear on my pillow by the time I get home, I'll think it over. Think God's got a spare candy bar or two stored up somewhere in Heaven that he could send one my way? That's what it'll take for starters. Not too much to ask, is it? I mean it's not like asking for a real miracle. It's just a piece of candy. Can your God do that?" Morgan knew it sounded crazy to ask for such a thing but the old man was talking such nonsense. He was trying to make the point that Hershel's question was ludicrous by making a ludicrous request. The trouble was that Hershel didn't see it that way.
"I'm being serious, Morgan," Hershel said quietly. "I'm trying to make you see what you're doing to yourself. Since you lost your wife and your boy, you've lost your way. Life is a precious gift, especially now. You can't waste it like this."
Morgan jerked around and grabbed Hershel's collar. "Don't you ever speak about my family. You didn't know my wife or my son. You don't know what I've been through. Don't come in here and try to tell me what's right for me and mine. Do you understand me?"
"Fine," Hershel agreed. "I won't say anything more about it. Let's go." Morgan released him and turned angrily before striding outside. Hershel stayed on his heels all the way back to the room where Morgan slept. Hershel had set up a sleeping bag in the corner.
Morgan dropped his guns and unsheathed the knife at his belt. He took off the body armor that he wore almost constantly. He was too tired to eat or wash or do anything except collapse into bed. He sat down on the edge of the cot and unlaced his boots, dropping them heavily onto the floor. As he lay back on the pillow, he heard a crinkling sound. He reached behind his head and felt a wrapper. He must have left a wrapper in the bed this morning after breakfast, he thought, but it wasn't an empty wrapper.
The astonished man pulled the item from underneath his head and around to his face. It was a candy bar, a familiar wrapper and logo, Dwayne's favorite. It was a GooGoo Cluster, brand new and unopened.
"What the fuck is this? Huh? What is this, Hershel? Is this some kind of game for you? You think you're going to fuck with my head now?" Morgan screamed as he threw the candy across the room, hitting the wall near his roommate's head.
"What are you talking about? What is this?" Hershel asked as he grabbed for the thrown item. Then he started to chuckle softly but it got louder with each breath.
"It's funny? You think this is funny? Where the hell did you get it from anyway? Where? I've been through everything in this town and every place for miles around. There's nothing like this left. How did you know? " Morgan continued to yell.
"Well this is what you asked for, isn't it? Proof? I guess someone was listening," Hershel told him as he picked up the candy and waved it in the air tauntingly. "I just never realized what a sense of humor God has until today. A GooGoo cluster! You can't deny this one."
Morgan marched angrily over and snatched the candy away from his visitor. He turned the crinkly wrapping over in his hands studying it carefully. It had to be a trick. There was no way this was real. Maybe he was imagining the whole episode, the old man, the church, the candy, everything. Still, it was odd. He tucked the candy bar into the pocket of his backpack and zipped the pack closed. He'd check to see if it was still there tomorrow. By that time, the hallucination might be over.
The next morning the two men woke and prepared to begin work. Neither mentioned the candy bar. In actuality, Morgan was afraid to look into his pack to see if it was still there. What would it mean if it was there? What would it mean if nothing was there? The very idea of it unsettled him. It wasn't a part of his routine and he didn't like being thrown off his pattern. He didn't like being made to think about anything more than his job of clearing the town.
Once outside, Hershel walked ahead of him a bit and Morgan chanced a peek into the backpack. The candy bar was still there, its shiny paper glaring up at him. He quickly zipped the pack closed. He wouldn't think about it anymore. It wasn't worth his time. It didn't prove anything. It was time to get to work and stop thinking about foolishness.
Over the next few days, Morgan tried not to think about the incident with the candy. He worked extra hard each day so that by nightfall he practically fell into bed. Physical exhaustion made it easier to forget. Still each time he heard the crinkle of the wrapper inside his pack or caught a glimpse of the shiny paper, he'd wonder what it meant. There was still something out there, something coming his way and this little candy bar was part of it. Hershel was another part of it. Little pieces of a puzzle that he didn't yet understand were all that had been revealed.
About a week after the magical candy bar appearance, the two men were out on a scavenging run a little further afield than usual. In order to find the supplies he needed, Morgan found he was having to go a bit further from home each time now. Stores and houses had been picked clean.
Morgan still drove the Sheriff's car that Rick gave him keys to. He only drove it on supply runs because he hated having to siphon gas. The two men drove to a small town nearly fifty miles from home base to look for food and any other useful supplies. Morgan always checked police or sheriff offices first for any weapons or ammo that might be left behind.
He parked the car in the postage stamp size parking lot of the police station. It was an old building, probably built right after World War II. It kind of reminded him of the station on The Andy Griffith Show. Morgan wondered if any Barney Fife walkers were stumbling around inside.
The two men pushed the door open with weapons drawn. The interior of the station was quiet and dark. A couple of desks with scattered paperwork were covered in dust. A windowed doorway in the back held a printed sign warning that the door must be locked at all times. That was probably where the guns were kept.
After a quick sweep of the interior which uncovered a well stocked first aid kit, the men headed for the door. Morgan flicked on a small flashlight and shone it through the little square window. There were no guns visible, only a few cells with thick steel bars. All the cells were empty as far as he could see. So he pushed on the door. True to the sign's instructions, the door was locked.
Morgan pushed against the door several times, throwing his weight against it heavily. It didn't budge. He felt something tap him on the shoulder and turned to see Hershel extending a crowbar. With the added leverage provided by the crowbar, the door began to give. Within a few minutes, he felt the wood around the lock splinter and the door finally move. With a quick shove, he pushed the door inward. The force of his blow pushed the door backwards until it slammed against the wall with a loud bang.
"Damn," Morgan muttered realizing he'd just rung the dinner bell for any walkers in hearing range. Still though, nothing moved in the darkened space ahead. He flashed his light from side to side illuminating the few cells. The doors were open and nothing living or dead stirred inside. He stepped further in and noticed a concrete stairwell leading down at the end of the block. At the top of the stairs a square orange sign reading Fallout Shelter with a radiation symbol underneath was fastened to the wall.
"There could be stuff down there," Hershel said from behind Morgan's left shoulder. They stocked those fallout shelters with all sorts of supplies that would last for years."
"A fallout shelter?" Morgan asked. "Why would they still have one?"
"Old places like this just never did away with 'em," Hershel said. "Back 15-20 years ago, just about every municipal building had one. Later they were dismantled but some little places like this just never bothered. It may be nothing but it's worth a look."
Morgan wasn't sure but he was curious. He'd never seen a fallout shelter. The stairs led down into a dank underground space. At the bottom of the stairs was a doorway. The door was metal and heavy but the frame was rusted. A few attacks with the crowbar allowed them entrance. As soon as the door opened, the stench hit him in the face. Then he heard them, a lot of them. He began to shuffle backward telling Hershel to move but they weren't fast enough.
The first walker leaped from the darkened doorway toward them pushing Morgan down onto the bottom of the stairs. Its snapping was within inches of his face when he heard the thunk of Hershel's knife entering its skull.
Morgan threw the moldy corpse aside but just as he got to his feet three more appeared in the doorway. The men began moving back up the stairs but Morgan realized he'd sprained his ankle in the fall. He limped painfully while glancing behind after every step. The walkers were close, too close. Hershel was helping him as much as he could but as they made their way outside and jumped in the car, the walkers from the basement were right on their heels.
The men sat for a moment looking at the disgusting corpses circling their vehicle. Mold covered most of their bodies. A few even had mushrooms sprouting from their limbs. It was so off the wall that it was almost comical but those grasping claws and gnashing teeth were not a joke so Morgan reached down to crank the car. It was time to go.
A quiet click was all he heard as the key turned. He tried again but still nothing. Morgan looked worriedly at Hershel. The car wasn't starting and they were surrounded by walkers.
"Where's your God now old man?" Morgan asked as panic flooded his mind. "He still around? Got another candy bar for me, does he? There is no God. There is this," he said pointing at the dead face pressed against the window.
"You're wrong, Morgan," Hershel said. "This is not God's doing. He wants us to do better, to be better. We just have to believe."
Morgan laughed a bit hysterically. "Believe? And what's he gon do for me if I believe. Is that gon make my luck change? Are things gonna get better? You're ridiculous and your God is a myth. "
"He's shown you his power once. What more do you want?" Hershel asked.
"Are you looking at what's outside this car? What do I want? I want all these sick freaks to leave so we can get out of this car and get back home. A little bit of luck could go a long way towards making me believe," Morgan said. "You hear that God? You got any good luck to spare?"
A rumble of thunder shook the air and stirred the walkers outside up even more than before. "Oh, wonderful. Now we get a storm on top of everything else. At least we have bullets so we can end this without having to be eaten alive," Morgan said as he laid his head against the steering wheel. "At least it'll be over."
Rain began to pelt the top of the car. It was like the sky opened and dumped buckets onto everything in sight. The thunder continued accompanied by bright flashes in the sky. Morgan tried the key again and again but nothing happened. The only thing he could think was that a battery cable might be loose. They'd hit some pretty deep pot holes during the drive. What did it matter anyway? They were screwed, totally and completely. There was no way out.
The ground shook with the power of the storm and suddenly in the distance a bright flash and a roar split the air. A large old pine tree across the road had been struck by lightning. The bark split away from the trunk and flew in all directions. It was shredded down to the size of confetti. Limbs began to fall scattering pine needles everywhere. The loud noise and movement caught the attention of the walkers and they began to move away from the car toward the tree. Morgan and Hershel sat as still as statues while the dead slowly followed each other across the road toward the exploding tree.
Seeing a brief opportunity, Morgan popped the hood and jumped out to check the battery. Sure enough, a cable was loose. He affixed it to the battery carefully and closed the hood softly before jumping back behind the wheel and trying to crank the car again. This time the battery sparked and the engine roared to life. The tires squealed as Morgan floored the accelerator and escaped the police station parking lot.
Wiping his rain soaked brow, Morgan whistled, "Whew, that was a close one." He looked over to see Hershel sitting like a Cheshire cat in the passenger seat.
"Was that enough for you?" Hershel asked with a knowing grin.
"Enough? What do you mean enough?" Morgan asked.
"Enough proof. How do you think that lightning just happened to strike that tree? You wanted a lucky break. He gave it to you. God is still here with us Morgan. Do you believe now?" Hershel asked.
"That was a storm not some omnipotent being. That's all it was. Don't start this again with me," Morgan said with his irritation showing.
"Really? That's all it was?" Hershel asked. "You wanted luck and," the old man said as he reached for something hanging from the rear view mirror, "he gave unto you." Hershel held a rabbit's foot on a brass chain dangling from his fingers near Morgan's face.
Morgan visibly blanched at the object. There was nothing hanging from the car mirror before. He'd been driving this car for months and there was never anything hanging from the mirror.
"What the hell's happening? You some kind of magician? First the candy and now this. What are you trying to do to me?" Morgan asked.
"I'm not doing this," Hershel explained. "You want proof and here it is. That lightning strike was no accident. God has a purpose for you. He wants you to see your own worth, your place in this world."
"I know my place. I've known it since Dwayne….since my son. It was my fault. I should have kept him safe. It was my fault," Morgan said. He was fighting to keep control. None of this made any sense. How was it happening? They were well outside the town now on a clear stretch of road. He slowed and then stopped the car before putting his face in his hands and sobbing. He hadn't cried since he put Dwayne down. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of feeling anything except anger.
As the tears flowed, Morgan felt Hershel's hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, son. It's alright," Hershel whispered as he patted Morgan's arm.
Morgan took a deep shuddering breath and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He turned to look at the kindly old gentleman sitting next to him. "Who are you? Why did you come here?" Morgan questioned. "Tell me the truth please."
"I told you. My name is Hershel Greene. I was with Rick's group. That's all true. As for why I'm here, I'm not sure. I had to leave my group, my friends and family, and I ended up here. I'm worried about them, Rick especially. He's lost so much and there's still so much hardship ahead. He needs someone to watch over him, to keep his hope and humanity alive. I think that person is you," Hershel said.
"Me? I can barely take care of myself. How am I supposed to help him? Rick doesn't need me. Last time I saw him, I tried to kill him," Morgan confessed.
"You weren't yourself," Hershel said quietly. "Rick knew that. You're a link to what Rick was before all this. You were the one who told him about what had happened to the world. Back then he was a different man and so were you. You've come through the fire and you're stronger. Rick's still standing in the embers. He can't see through the smoke and flame but you can guide him, Morgan. You can show him the way."
Morgan didn't know what to say. Hershel Greene was more than he appeared to be. He was more than an ordinary man. Despite his doubts and anger, Morgan was beginning to trust this stranger. He was beginning to believe there was more than just the need to clear. It scared him. He wasn't sure that he was ready for this.
The two men reached the safety of their lodgings and stowed their gear away. All they'd managed to turn up on their run was a first aid kit but on the other hand they had escaped with their lives.
Morgan took the rabbit's foot from the car mirror and tucked it inside his backpack right next to the candy bar. Two little insignificant things when looked at by anyone else but the events that led them to his possession had begun to change Morgan in ways he didn't yet understand.
He continued to work with Hershel each day. They pulled the walkers off the spikes and burned the bodies or they went on supply runs to look for food or weapons. The difference was that now they talked as they worked. Hershel told Morgan about the farm and their group's long winter on the road. He also told him about Lori and little Judith, about the prison and the Governor. Most of all he talked to Morgan about Rick.
"Rick is a good man," Hershel told him. "He loves his family and wants to take care of them. That's all he cares about, but things are changing. He's changing. There are going to be challenges that may make him forget who he is. He needs someone to remind him that there's still good in this world. It's harder to find but it's still here."
Morgan was shocked to hear all that his friend had been through. Of course, he'd seen the change in Rick months ago. He knew what Hershel was telling him was true. What he couldn't figure out was why Hershel kept saying bad things were coming for Rick and his group. Were these some kind of visions? Was it a gut feeling like the one Morgan had before Hershel arrived? What gave this man the idea that he knew what the future held? It didn't make any sense.
Even if all of the old man's predictions were true, what in the hell was Morgan supposed to do about it? He wasn't Rick's keeper. Hell, he barely knew the man. Their paths crossed once a long time ago and then briefly again a few months back. He wasn't some moral compass for Rick or for anyone. He didn't even know which direction his own compass pointed anymore. Losing his wife and his boy sent his life into a tailspin and nothing made sense anymore. The only thing he was sure of was the he prayed for death. He wanted it to come for him but it never did. It made him wait and suffer and grieve and then wait some more. Someday it would find him and he was ready to meet it with open arms.
One day as the two men watched fire spread across haphazardly stacked corpses, Hershel asked, "Will you tell me what happened to you Morgan? How you came to be here?"
Morgan bristled for a moment. He didn't like to think about the past and he'd only spoken about once to Rick. He looked tiredly toward Hershel, "You really want to hear this?" Hershel simply nodded.
"We were on our way to Atlanta, tryin' to make it to a refugee camp. The car ran outta gas and we had to walk. We were tryin' to find shelter when one of them popped out of an alley and got to my wife," Morgan said through the tears that ran down his face. "She got so sick. The fever burned her up from the inside. She died and I couldn't do what I needed to . I wrapped her up in a blanket and put her outside. I thought she'd just wander away, you know? I didn't think we'd ever see her again. I told Dwayne I buried her but then she started to come around again especially at night, like she remembered where we were. It hurt Dwayne to see his mama like that. And then, later, that's why he let her get too close. He'd never have done that except for her. He was too smart for that. He died because I failed him."
"I'm sorry that happened to you, Morgan and to your boy. It's a cruel thing," Hershel empathized.
Morgan grinned and then laughed out loud. "A cruel thing? A cruel world? A cruel God? Yes, Hershel, yes it is. That's what I been tryin' to tell you. It's not a pretty story with some miraculous ending where God intervenes and saves the day."
"God's not finished with you yet, Morgan. Don't forget that," Hershel said as he placed a hand on the other man's shoulder.
Morgan jerked angrily away. "No? He's not finished? What else can he do to me? What else can he take from me? I prayed for him to let me die. I prayed every day. I put that gun in my mouth and I tried to pull the trigger. I prayed for him to give me the strength but he didn't. He didn't answer my prayers, Hershel. Why didn't he show up for me when I needed him? He's finished with me or else he's got one sick sense of humor. It doesn't matter though. It doesn't matter because I'm finished with him, Hershel. You hear me? I am finished with him."
Hershel reached out again to try and comfort the distraught man. Morgan was shaking visibly at this point. His pain and anger were unleashed for the first time in months. He glared at Hershel wishing he'd never seen the old man or listened to any of his bullshit. The crazy thing was that he'd been starting to at least want to believe what Hershel was saying. If it were true, his life could have meaning again but just like the rest of the world, it was garbage.
"You need to leave here," Morgan yelled at Hershel. "I never wanted you here. You have to go because I have a job to do. I have to clear. Do you hear me?"
Hershel waved his hands frantically, "Morgan, calm down. Lower your voice. You're going to attract the walkers. Just calm down."
"Ha!" the wild eyed man shouted again. "You afraid of walkers? God's not gonna protect you this time?"
"Morgan, please, just calm down and let's talk this out," Hershel pleaded.
"I'm done talking," Morgan said harshly as he leaned in toward Hershel's face. "I got nothin' else to say to you."
Just then they heard a footstep and the click of a gun being cocked. Both men turned to see a stranger standing holding a revolver that was pointed at their heads.
"Well, well, I reckon I'm the only one that feels like talkin' today then," the man cackled. The man was tall and rail thin. His hair hung in lank, greasy strands that reached his shoulders. He was filthy from head to toe and his teeth were as black as the dirt under his fingernails.
Morgan automatically raised his hands. "What do you want?" he asked. "You don't have to shoot anybody. We'll give you whatever you need."
The man continued to stand there with the gun pointed. "I know you will," he said. "Now, real easy take that machete and that pistol and throw it over here. No quick movements or I'll just shoot you now."
Morgan gingerly reached and pulled the pistol from the holster at his hip with two fingers. He lifted the gun and tossed it toward the stranger. Then, he did the same with the machete laying at his feet.
"That's good, real good," the invader said. He held the gun steady while he picked up the pistol and machete and tucked them into his own belt. "Now, where's your friend that you was talking to? He hiding back there? Tell him to come on out now."
Morgan glanced to his right and saw that Hershel was standing only a few feet away from him. "He's the only other person in town," Morgan said as he pointed toward the old man.
"I didn't figure you had a posse but what I want to know is where the man is," he said angrily. "That's what I asked you. He better get his ass out here now. I heard you talkin' to him when I was walkin' up."
"I….I don't know what you mean," Morgan stuttered. "I was talking to Hershel, this man right here."
"Don't try to run no game on me, boy," the man threatened. "I ain't fallin' for your bullshit. Tell your friend to come out."
"He's here, right here," Morgan pointed to his right and looked over to see Hershel smiling serenely. "Can't you see him?" he asked shakily. He glanced back over to see Hershel sadly shaking his head.
The man walked forward and placed the barrel of the gun directly against Morgan's temple. "I ain't tellin' you again. Don't play with me. If your friend ain't got the balls to show himself maybe he needs a little encouragement." The stranger stepped back and fired the gun at the ground missing Morgan's foot by only an inch or so. "The next one won't miss the mark. I promise you that."
Morgan looked pleadingly at Hershel and then turned back toward his attacker, "Look, man, I don't know what's happening here but the man I was talking to is standing right here next to me. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm seein' things. I don't know. Just go ahead and do whatever you're going to do. I'm not going to beg."
"Brother, you just signed your death warrant. I ain't no fool and whether you turn him over or not, I'll find your friend. I already got a pretty good idea of where you keep your guns and supplies. I will do you the favor of puttin' this bullet in your brain so you won't come back as one of those things," he said as he raised the gun back up level with Morgan's head.
Morgan swallowed dryly. He thought he should be afraid but instead he was oddly calm. He was going to die today, finally, and it was okay. He closed his eyes and then he heard a click.
"What the fuck is wrong with this thing?" the man cursed as he flipped the gun open to check the bullets. Morgan's eyes opened. While the man fiddled with his weapon, Morgan lunged and knocked him to the ground. They struggled violently with the gun, each man trying to use it to his own advantage. The struggle went on for several minutes. Sweat streamed off Morgan's face and into his eyes. He pulled with all his might as he flung the man against the concrete. Suddenly there was a blast and Morgan felt the other man's body go limp.
As he stepped back, Morgan saw the hole in the stranger's chest and the ever widening circle of red soaking his filthy shirt. The gun was in Morgan's hand. He wasn't sure how it had happened but somehow the gun had gone off as they struggled. At that moment, the barrel had been pointed towards the attacker.
The man laying at his feet coughed feebly and blood bubbled from his lips. He gazed up at Morgan and grinned. Blood now covered the blackness of his teeth. "Told ya I'd find him," he whispered as he pointed over Morgan's shoulder. "Knew you were bullshittin' me." Morgan turned to see that Hershel stood just behind him. They both looked back down as the man choked on his own blood and then gasped his last breath. Morgan put the barrel of the gun against his head and fired it, making sure that this man would not be rising to torment him further.
Morgan looked back at Hershel. He was confused and exhausted by all that had just happened. He needed answers. "What just happened here, Hershel? Why couldn't that man see you? Was he insane or am I? What is this?"
"Let's go back to your room. You need rest. I'll explain it to you when we're away from here. Come with me," Hershel said as he took Morgan's arm and led him down the street. The walkers in the area, drawn by the gunfire and fighting, were closing in on the area. Several began following the two men but were soon caught on the spike traps that Morgan built. They made back to their safe house with no further trouble.
As Morgan sank down on the edge of his bed, he realized he was still gripping the revolver. He flipped the gun open to see that only one bullet remained, the one that misfired when the man tried to kill him. There was a strike mark on the end of it. He slid the bullet out into his palm and checked it carefully. It looked perfect. There seemed to be no reason that it wouldn't have fired. One more mystery in this whole mess that he didn't understand.
Hershel had taken a chair across from him and he handed a bottle of water to Morgan who took it gratefully and drained half of it without taking a breath. He poured a bit of it onto his shirt tail and wiped his face. Traces of blackish red blood stained the fabric when he pulled it away.
"What was that Hershel? What just happened?" Morgan asked quietly. The shock of it all was beginning to hit him hard.
"I don't know if you're going to believe me, Morgan," Hershel said, "but I'm going to explain this to you as best I can." Morgan simply nodded and sipped more of the water.
"What I told you in the beginning was true. I had to leave Rick's group, but the reason I had to leave is that I was killed, murdered by a madman who wanted what we had," Hershel admitted.
Morgan's eyes grew wide. "I am insane. I am. That's what this is. I've lost my mind," he muttered to himself as he looked around the room.
"No, Morgan, no. You're not. What I'm telling you is the truth. I don't know how you can see me and hear me. I just know that I was sent here to make you believe in something again, make you realize that your life isn't over. Rick is going to need your friendship and your guidance very soon. You are the only one who can do this," Hershel explained.
"Rick? What's Rick got to do with this? I've only seen that man twice in my life. Why would he need my help now?" Morgan asked incredulously.
"Rick has been a force for good in this world. He's made sacrifices to keep people alive. He's made a difference. Now, he's lost everything, his wife, his child, everyone he's relied on since this all began. Things have happened and are about to happen that will pull him even deeper into the darkness. He may well become as bad as the man who killed me, the man who called himself The Governor. He needs someone from before, someone who knew the real Rick, to remind him of who he is, to keep him from being lost forever. You can do that, Morgan. You saved his life once and you have the chance now to save his soul," Hershel told him.
"None of this makes any sense. I should be dead right now. That gun should have fired and killed me, but it didn't. Now, you're saying I have some kind of mission. This is crazy. This is insanity. Are you even real?" Morgan asked with a rather dazed look on his face.
"You were spared. I know you say you don't believe in God so I won't say that it was his hand that saved you. But you have to at least admit that something bigger than us is at work here. You've asked for proof three times and three times it's been given to you. If that isn't enough to convince you, what will it take?" Hershel asked.
"I need to sleep. This is….this is just too much. I'm so tired. I need to sleep," Morgan said as he lay back on his bed. Almost immediately he fell into a deep dreamless slumber.
As the sun's rays pierced his darkened room the next morning, Morgan opened his eyes. He felt good, truly rested for the first time that he could remember since Dwayne died. He looked around but didn't see Hershel anywhere. He wondered again if the whole thing had been a hallucination, a symptom of the madness that had driven him for so long.
He was still wearing the filthy clothes from the day before. The blood splatter from the man who'd died had darkened and hardened on the front of his shirt. He stripped it off along with his army fatigue pants and boots and walked over to a plastic tub sitting on a table in the corner. It was his makeshift washstand. He lifted a large five gallon bottle of water and poured a bit into the tub. Using a well-worn washcloth and tiny bar of soap, he cleaned himself up and then put on fresh clothes. Time to look for Hershel, if there actually was such a person. He grabbed his pack, picked up a rifle and headed out the door.
The morning hours slipped by quickly as Morgan checked the buildings in town for any sign of the old man who'd become his only friend over the last few weeks. He could find nothing. By noon, he was starving. He climbed onto the roof of the drug store and took off his pack. Hopefully there'd be a protein bar or something inside it for him to eat. He checked each of the pockets and they all came up empty until he got to the front zippered compartment. Inside were three things – a GooGoo Custer candy bar still sealed in its wrapper, a rabbit's foot dangling from a keychain and the bullet that had misfired and spared his life.
Tears filled Morgan's eyes as he looked at the trio of otherwise insignificant objects. Folded carefully in with these items was a note. He unfolded it and began to read.
Morgan – I hope that I've convinced you that there is a purpose for you in this world. You can be a force for good. You can be a savior for the living who so desperately need to know that hope still exists. God has proven his existence and he now asks that you follow his will. Go out in the world and protect the weak, show mercy to the misguided and the wicked. Find Rick and his family, be the compass that points him home again. It's your choice to make. If you choose to do his will, the path will be shown to you with markers like the mark on the bullet, a circle with a cross in the center. Follow the path and you will find those who need your help. Take no weapons other than a staff. It is all you will need against the enemies you'll face. Protect life always. God will protect you, Morgan. You are the one he chose.
May God Bless You Always,
Hershel Greene
Morgan looked again at the items lying side by side before him. He couldn't deny that it was more than a coincidence that these things were given to him at just the moment he asked. Hershel had been real. This was real. He wasn't insane. He packed everything back into his pack and climbed down. The street was clear for once. The walkers had been drawn toward the other side of town where all the noise had come from yesterday.
He walked back toward his room with a purpose. Without even realizing it, he'd made a decision. Whether all this was God's doing or some kind of crazy old man's delusion, Morgan didn't care. It made sense. Hope was something that Morgan had lost long ago, but after reading Hershel's letter and looking at his trifecta of proof he started to imagine a future. Maybe he could find Rick. Maybe he could do something good for other people, save them even though he'd failed to save his own.
Life was all that was worth protecting anymore. He could become a man who protected the weak. As far as Rick Grimes went, he'd always planned on finding Rick someday. Now Rick was the only person in the world that he knew. Finding him and his group wasn't some strange mission. It was just common sense. If he could help Rick in some way then that was all the better. He owed Rick. The only part of Hershel's message that concerned Morgan was the bit about not taking weapons. That didn't seem logical to him. He wasn't going to leave town unarmed.
When he reached his room, he began to sort through his belongings to decide what he should pack. He packed several different types of dehydrated food along with a manual water purifier and some extra clothes. The last thing to go in the front pocket of the pack was the candy bar, the rabbit's foot and the bullet. They were his lucky charms or at least he hoped they were. He also slung a rifle over one shoulder and a pistol into the holster at his waist. His knife was always in the sheath on his belt. Extra ammo was stored in his pack as well.
He wasn't waiting another moment. He was starting now. He'd go in the direction that he'd last seen Rick going, north. He didn't really expect the trail to be marked but Rick had said they were at a prison. He could find that. On his way out of town, Morgan stopped by the spot where Dwayne and his mother were buried to tell them goodbye. That was the hardest part of leaving. They wouldn't be coming with him this time.
It took two weeks of hiking to reach the prison that Rick told him about. As he walked up the road where signs warned of possible escaping inmates, he felt a surge of gladness. He was looking forward to seeing his friend again. Hershel told him that someone had wanted what these people had so it must be a safe place, a good place.
The brush and kudzu along the edges of the crumbling road were thick and had already crept to cover all but a small walkway. Morgan wondered why no one had cut any of the brush back. Perhaps they had another entrance. Maybe they let this grow on purpose to hide their safe haven.
As he rounded the last curve before the prison gate, Morgan heard them. There were walkers, lots of them. He pulled his knife from his belt and stepped back into the trees as he made his way closer to the prison. He could see the fences that had been mashed beneath the tread of the tank that sat in the prison yard. Walkers were inside the fences. The windows were smashed. The building had holes that must have been caused by mortars from the tank. There'd been a battle here. Rotting corpses lay scattered on the ground or walking amid the destruction. A lot of people had died.
Morgan made his way through the trees staying out of sight and circled around the prison. There were only one or two walkers along the back side of the old buildings and a wall was down. He took out the walkers and went inside. The inside of the prison was completely dark, so dark that the walls seemed to press in on him. He pulled a flashlight from his pack and flipped it on.
The mazelike corridors were confusing and Morgan knew he couldn't allow himself to get lost in here. He was about to turn back when the beam of his flashlight hit something white painted on the wall at the corner. It was an arrow that someone had spray painted pointing down the corridor. He followed the arrow to another junction and once again found an arrow pointing him further along.
The going through the dark tunnels was slow but the arrows led him through until he reached a wall of steel bars with a marking overhead that identified it as Cell Block C. Morgan pushed the door and it opened leading him into what had once been a living area.
Tables and chairs were pushed and scattered. Dust and debris from the explosions covered every surface. The cells all had curtains covering their doorways but inside had been made homey by the previous inhabitants. It was obvious that people left here in a hurry. Items had been dropped as they ran to escape whoever had attacked them.
Morgan stopped at one of the cells. A small playpen sat at the foot of the bunk. A few stuffed animals lay inside it along with a pink blanket. He knew this, remembered it. Rick's boy and the woman had been carrying one just like it when they left town. This was Rick's cell. Morgan was sure of it.
He looked around in the cell but didn't find anything that identified the old friend he'd come looking for. Could this be Rick's place? Was he dead now or just on the run? There was no way to know and no way to find him now. The hope that had started to grow was dashed now. There was no hope, no chance for anyone. If Rick and his family weren't safe behind fences and walls and bars, where could they be safe?
As he made his way back through the cell block and down into the darkened hallways, he thought about what Hershel had said. Rick was facing hardship that would change him. Hershel said he needed someone to remind him of the good. How was he supposed to do anything for Rick if he couldn't find the man?
The dark corridors finally opened up and he stepped back outside the prison through the broken wall. A few walkers were milling about but nothing he couldn't handle. He walked quickly toward the woods hoping to get himself out of sight of the dead things. After pushing his way through the brush and hiking about 20 yards into the trees, he stopped startled by what he was seeing in front of him.
Directly ahead of him was a tree with a fresh carving in its trunk. He walked over and placed his hand over the grooves that formed the shape of a circle with a cross in its center. It was like Hershel's letter. The path was being shown to him. He couldn't help himself. He laughed as tears welled in his eyes.
The walkers were still behind him so he couldn't stop for long. He pushed on through the trees and made it to another road. It was late afternoon so he needed to find some shelter for the night. There were houses along the road a few miles further down. They'd all been ransacked by survivors looking for food or weapons. He didn't care. All he wanted was a roof for the night.
The top floor of the house he chose had a bed that looked comfortable and a window that opened onto the roof. He set up some alarm lines in the house at the bottom of the stairs and then right outside the door to the room where he planned to sleep.
Once everything was in place, he opened his pack and laid out the items that he'd looked at every night since leaving on this journey. He touched each one reverently and let his fingers linger on the candy bar. How he wished he could see Dwayne's eyes light up at the sight of that thing.
Tonight he also pulled out Hershel's letter again. He read it through several times – "the path will be shown to you" – "a circle with a cross in the center". The mark was there today on the tree just as this letter promised. The candy had shown up out of nowhere right after he doubted Hershel. The rabbit's foot was there when a bolt of lightning saved his life. The bullet was in a gun that had been aimed at his head. It was true. He understood that it was all true.
The next morning he packed his belongings and left the house. Anyone who came after him would be surprised to find the things he left behind in the upstairs bedroom. A rifle, a pistol and several boxes of ammunition lay in the center of the bed where he'd slept last night.
Morgan walked a little further down the road until he found a tree with a thin but sturdy branch. He used the saw blade side of his knife to cut it to a length of about five feet. This would do. He'd have to work on it a bit, smooth it down and wrap the handle with some leather, but it would do. He had a staff. It was all he'd need for protection.
He didn't know how far he'd have to travel to find what he was looking for but he knew that Rick was out there somewhere. He had the trail to follow and he had faith again.